Then & Now
by Old School Fan
Summary: This story chronicles the tumultous on again, off again relationship between Vince McMahon and his favorite blond throughout the years.


1992

He corners me inside my dressing room before show time. Broad shouldered and looming quite large in his ridiculous canary yellow suit. His dyed pompadour is perfectly coifed, not a hair out of place.

"The decision has been made," He informs me, "We need to go in a different direction, a _younger_ direction ." His tone is brusque and businesslike. I'm stunned and more than a little hurt. Anyone witnessing this exchange would never have guessed that we had been more, a lot more, than just employer and employee.

"If that's what you want, Vincent." I say icily, turning my back to him, signaling that I too am done with this conversation. I'm facing my dressing room mirror, so I still have a perfect view of him. He is just standing there, waiting, as if expecting something. Then it hits me. The bastard. He wants drama, fireworks, histrionics. He's expecting tears. Well, I won't give him the satisfaction.

After an awkward moment, he clears his throat. "Remember what I told you. If you feel like I'm not utilizing you correctly, you're free to walk away. I'll release you from your contract."

How very kind of him. Only Vince McMahon can come up with a way to say "you're fired," while making it seem like my decision.

"I still have a show to do tonight," I say. "I'll think about tomorrow tomorrow."

"Still a class act," Vince eyes me with frank admiration. "They sure don't make them any better than you."

He tries to put his arms around me. I move out of his reach. "Remember that, Vincent, when your little boy toy breaks your heart. And he _will_ break your heart."

1993

The party is in full swing. After losing cleanly to Curt tonight, I'm going out the way I came in, with a bang. The boys really went all out for me. This party was supposed to be a surprise, but I managed to coax it out of Mark Calloway who, bless his heart, never could keep anything from me. Still, when the time came to act surprised, I think I pulled it off.

The music, the laughter, the free flowing drinks. The sea of well wishers. Even Bret Hart, who I regretfully don't get along with and probably never will, came up to me and wished me well. I think he's happier to see me leave than anyone else. Well, maybe not _anyone_ else.

He comes toward me, drink in hand, swaying his hips to the music which seems to have a mesmerizing effect on the guys. They watch him with the same appreciation usually reserved for yours truly. Yes, this kid is going to break a lot of hearts.

"Mind if I steal you away from your party?"

"Why not?" I retort, "You steal everything else."

He loses his smile for a bit, but quickly finds it again. I follow him outside into the fresh, night air.

Shawn Michaels, another blue-eyed blonde (Vince does seem to have a fondness for them) is nearly twenty years younger than me and pretty. So pretty that I would hate him if I didn't feel sorry for him. Vince is his problem now.

"I couldn't believe it when I heard the news. I'm so sorry that you're leaving."

"No you're not." I look closely at Shawn. He reminds me a lot of me when I was his age, except for one thing. There's a cold, calculating look to his eyes. How did I not notice it before? I should have known something was off. The way he latched onto me from the very beginning, now that I look back on it, was just plain weird. He told me how much he admired me, wanted to be just like me. He even showed me an old magazine with himself on the cover, dressed in a suit similar to mine and striking the same pose as me, bandaged forehead and all. I was so flattered that I took an instant liking to the kid and decided to take him under my wing.

Shawn was a quick study, watching everything I did. Mimicking my movements, my mannerisms. Little does he know it will all come back to bite him in his shapely little ass. He's not even original. Just an upstart, carbon copy of me. Vince will tire of him soon enough.

"He loved you first," Shawn says, "if that's any consolation."

"He loves you now," I reply, "so you got what you wanted. You win."

"Funny," he says slumping against the wall as if the weight of the world is on him. "I don't feel like a winner."

"That's because in the end, you'll lose. You'll find out the way I did." I study his smooth, flawless young face. "How old you, Shawn? Twenty three? Twenty four?"

"I'm twenty-six."

"Ha, still a baby. Beautiful too. Enjoy it while it lasts. Use it to your advantage and get whatever you can out of this business because when you're old and your looks start to fade, they discard you like yesterday's garbage."

"But you're going to be okay, won't you, Ric? I mean, you just signed this huge deal to go back to WCW. You're going to be a headliner again."

That's true enough. I will be getting paid a lot of money and I will be headlining, but there is a catch. Isn't there always?

Bill Watts didn't mince words when we discussed the terms of our arrangement. He made it quite clear that I had to give a little to get a little. Before we even put pen to paper, he made me get down on my knees. I obeyed him, staring up at his pasty, flabby body with what I hoped was a worshipful expression before taking his sluglike penis into my mouth. I shudder at the memory, knowing that I will be forced to degrade myself further for Bill Watts. A heavy price indeed, but one I know I have to pay for another taste of my precious, fleeting stardom.

That drink in Shawn's hand is starting to look pretty damn good.

2002

I fasten my blue robe around my waist, staring at my broken fifty-two year old self in the mirror. A few more lines marring my reflection. The gradual thinning of my platinum hair has started to become noticeable. Prior to this, I managed to conceal it with various cuts and styles. I even had my head shaved as part of a storyline, thinking that it would make the loss my famed locks less traumatic. It was _not_ a good look for me. I quickly grew it back, less full than I would have liked, but better than nothing at all.

My time in WCW had not been easy. Bill quickly came and went when the pompous jackass made some racist remark that got him canned. Enter Eric Bischoff - a young, handsome, smooth talking devil with glossy black hair and a dimpled smile. A definite improvement over fat old Bill. The future was looking quite good or so I thought.

The abuse started almost immediately. He expressed his displeasure at my appearance though it didn't stop him from fucking me whenever he wanted. He wasn't too gentle about it either and I was left bruised, sore, and badly shaken. To complete my degradation, he pimped me out to the boys, reminding me that taking cock was the only use I had left. He had me thoroughly convinced that I was worthless. My ring work suffered. I fell into a depression that I haven't recovered from.

"Ready for tonight?" Vince's voice startles me. I turn around and see him in his snug fitting black jeans and a black tank that shows off his muscular physique.

Panic is setting in. "I don't think I can do this."

"Oh honey, you're trembling." He wraps his strong arms around me and I collapse against him, seeking comfort in his embrace.

"I'm so scared. It's been a long time and..."

"I'll take care of you," he murmurs. "I promise. I want to make this night for you as big as I possibly can."

"Oh Vinnie..."

My eyes tear up. Maybe it's all of my emotions spilling over at once. Helplessness, despair, fear of not being good enough. Or maybe it has to do with a man showing me some kindness - it's been a while since that has happened. Vince kisses away the tears, uttering words of devotion that I never thought I'd hear from his lips again.

It seems that absence truly does make the heart grow fonder.

I pull myself together and focus on the show. At this year's Royal Rumble, Vince and I will tear the house down.

2007

HD is not my friend. At least, that's what the tv execs are saying. Vince agrees, only he won't tell me that, not exactly. Instead he comes up with an idea to "retire" me. Ratings and pay per view buys will be unbelievable, he says. We'll build this thing up for months and it will have the whole world talking. He brings up this brilliant plan of his after giving me mind blowing sex. The bastard.

"You'll go out in style," he says, "in a way befitting someone of your stature. The biggest send off anyone has ever gotten. How does that sound?"

Now that's the Vince I know and love. Once again giving me a choice that isn't really a choice.

"If you think it's best."

"It is." He says with regret.

"Well then," I say, rising from the bed. "I guess that's settled."

"Sweetheart, wait. Where are you going?"

He gets out of bed, comes over to where I'm furiously gathering my clothes.

"I need to be by myself for a while. Surely, you'll allow me _that_ choice."

"Look, I'm sorry if I upset you. I just wanted to run it by you, see what you thought of it."

"What I think is a minor formality. Your mind was already made up."

He throws up his hands. "Oh for Christ sake, what was I supposed to do? The executives were breathing down my neck. Dammit Ric, it was a business decision. It - it has nothing to do with how I feel about you. You know I still want you."

"Oh sure, you want me. In your bed, behind closed doors, just not on television where the world can see me."

"You, of all people, should know how this business works. Youth sells and face it, my darling, you're neither young nor fresh."

"Don't you think I know that? What the hell do you think I see when I look in the mirror?"

"You are a legend," he says slowly and with emphasis. "Nobody can take that away from you, but if you stick around too much longer, then you..."

"What?" I demand of him. "Just say it."

"You'll become nothing more than a nostalgia act. Someone who stuck around way past his prime. You deserve better than that."

"And what am I supposed to do, Vince, when the spotlight goes away? What happens to me then?"

"I'll still love you, and I'll take care of you."

2009

"I can't believe you did this." I scream when I tear into his office, furious at Vince's latest stunt. "You have no right."

"I have every right. Ring of Honor is competition. I can't have you making televised appearances for them while you're still under contract to me."

"I made a deal with those people. They paid me in advance."

"Then return the money."

"How am I supposed to do that, Vinnie? I'm up to my eyeballs in debt."

"How much are you in for, Ric? I'll take care of it."

"You don't get it, do you?" I vent, frustrated by his obtuseness. "You can't just take out your magic checkbook and make it all go away. Besides, it's not just about the money. It's - it's everything. The way you try to control my every move. I've been made some rather generous offers from other promoters and every single time, you've interfered and stopped me from accepting them."

"They're the competition."

"How are some little indy feds going to affect you? You're Vince fucking McMahon. You can buy and sell them ten times over."

"That's right, I am Vince McMahon and I didn't get to where I am by being soft. You're my brand, Ric Flair, my _property_. I _own_ every inch of you and I won't have you going to work for other promoters and making a fool of me."

"Your property?," I shake my head, deflated and disillusioned. "Funny, I figured that after all of these years you'd see me as a real person with thoughts and feelings. I thought that maybe you'd see _me_."

"Sweetheart, I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

"Don't. Just don't. I can't take any more. I'll always be grateful to you for what you've done for me over the years and I'll always love you. I just don't like you right now."

"Just let me fix things for you."

"No Vinnie, maybe it's time I learned to stand on my own two feet. I may stand tall or I may fall down, but I'll never know unless I try"

And with some of my dignity intact, I walk away from Vince and a lifetime position with WWE.

2013

I don't know how Vince still manages to look so good. Maybe he sucks the blood of rookies. He approaches me with his usual confident stride, an impressive figure in a nicely tailored, conservative looking suit that is a far cry from the monstrosities he wore twenty years ago.

"You look good," he says after giving me a once over. An obvious lie, but I can't fault the man for trying.

"I look wretched and you know it."

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

"You are so full of shit, Vinnie."

He glances around the backstage area and notices the workers milling about. "Let's go somewhere where we can talk in private. My office?"

"After you."

He leads the way in, invites me to take a seat on the sofa. He sits beside me watching me with a solemn expression.

"I want to start out by saying I'm sorry for all that you've been going through."

"Don't." I raise a hand to stop him. "I screwed everything up all by myself."

"I promised to take care of you and I didn't."

"You tried, but I was so stubborn and proud. Too proud to realize that you were trying to protect me from my own worst enemy, me."

"My offer still stands, Ric. A lifetime PR job with the company. What do you say?"

"You don't need me."

"Of course I do. Nobody is more passionate about this business than you are. You are a bonafide legend and I can't think of a better representative for this company than you."

"Let's just say what it is. You feel sorry for me."

He sighs. "I can't help but think that had I handled things better with you..."

"That the last four years wouldn't have happened? Vinnie, that's an awful lot of burden to place on your shoulders. You're being too hard on yourself. I am not your responsibility."

"I hate to see you hurting."

"And you think that by offering me a job you can fix it?"

"It will give you something to do, keep you busy."

"And under your thumb."

"That's not what I meant." His face crumples and he suddenly looks like what he is, an old man. "I meant that it will be a better, _healthier_ way for you to deal with things."

"I'm coping," I say defensively.

"You're drinking and it shows. Look at you, all bloated from booze."

Ouch. So much for looking good. "I put on a few, so what?"

"You're killing yourself - that's what - and I'm not going to stand by and watch you do it. I am not going to lose you dammit."

"I'm not yours to lose, Vincent, or haven't I made that clear?"

"You're right," he says quietly. "You're not mine," he pauses, then adds, "but I would like you to be again."

"Have you gone blind in your old age? Look at me." I motion to myself.

"I see you."

"And you still want me?"

"I never stopped."

I let the words hang in the air. So many years I have fought with this man, loved him and hated him too with equal passion. I longed to be free of him, but was afraid of what I'd become without him. I had spent many hours at his side, many nights in his bed. His embrace, I had found comforting yet constricting.

"Well aren't you going to say anything?" Vince asks.

"I come with baggage."

"So what else is new?"

"And I'm a mess."

"Then you'll be _my_ mess."

"And," I add, smacking away his hand which had been creeping up my thigh. "I'm not going to submit to you so easily. You'll have to earn it."

His eyes light up; he grins. "I've always enjoyed the thrill of the chase."

"Well Vinnie, it just so happens that I still enjoy being chased."

THE END


End file.
